Post Surgery

"The secret to a rich life is to have more beginnings than endings." ~Dave Weinbaum 

   We spent the day before surgery at the Travel Lodge near the hospital so Les could go through the complete evacuation of his bowels in as much comfort as one can have when enduring the nasty tasting bowel prep. If you live on a boat and face this procedure we highly recommend you do this--you won't regret having access to a flush toilet that you do not have to empty and an endless supply of hot showers and baths.
   We were told he should not eat anything on Tuesday so he didn't. We were up all night anyway with the evacuation process, then Kevin took us to hospital at 6:55 am for check-in. There were six others awaiting check in as well and they ran out of beds when they got to Les. So we had to go sit up in the check out lounge on the 5th floor while the matron scurried around looking for a bed for him. Honestly!!
  Bed found, we met with the surgeon whom we did not recognize without his red, enraged face and spittle flying from his mouth. We also met with the anesthetist, and filled out tons of paper work. Les was scheduled to be the first in for surgery by Mr. H. but--oops! someone came into hospital the night before and he took precedence. Les' surgery was bumped up to 11 am. which came and went while we sat in the lounge. Finally at 11:30 he was given a gown and some Ted hose (support against deep vein thrombosis) and at noon they came for him. Les hugged us both and told Kevin, "Take good care of my baby."
   In the states, you are admitted to hospital, a band is put on your wrist, you are escorted ASAP to a private pre-op cubicle where you change into a gown, get on a bed, and your family can stay in with you while they insert a Hep-lock in a vein in the top of your hand and begin to administer IV fluids to ensure the patient is fully hydrated and electrolyte balanced. When it is time they wheel you off to the pre-op theatre to begin anesthetic administration, etc.
  It was so weird because over here they walk the patient to the pre-op area. It was like that crazy advert on British Telly "You're so money supermarket" where the astronauts are walking to the space shuttle and the average bloke joins them wearing a construction hard hat. Les and the surgery technician walked away from us up the hallway to the operating theatres, the surgery tech in his burgundy scrubs and little white hat, stethoscope around his neck and Les in his red, white and blue striped terry cloth dressing gown (bathrobe), navy Ted hose and matching slippers. The theme song from the movie 2001 Space Odyssey played in my head...
   Kev and I went for a bit of breakfast and returned to settle in for the wait. We knew the surgery would be long--the surgeon said about four and a half hours. By 6 pm we still had heard nothing and both of us were worried sick and feeling forgotten. I called the ward sister's number (ward nurse) and listened while she put the phone down and commenced calling other hospital areas searching for Les. It was not very reassuring. Finally she came back to me and said he was still in surgery--she thought perhaps an emergency had come in as they were  prepping him for the operating theatre and his surgery may have been moved back a bit. 
   I was shocked and angry that Les might have been kept waiting yet again but could do nothing but wait myself and wonder. Finally at 7 pm the matron responded to my call. She found Kevin and me in the deserted and semi-darkened second floor cantine near the admission and information desk, sitting alone. She said Les had just come out of surgery which took a bit longer than expected. 
   Although visiting times were 6:30-7:30, I told her I would not leave the hospital until I could see Les and speak with him. So she ushered Kev and I up to the fifth floor staff room, explained to the floor staff who were were and why we were there, and left us to it. 
   We waited another two and half hours for Les to come out of the recovery room. A wheeled bed went by the staff room window at one point and I said, "Kev is that Les?" He thought maybe it was--we'd only seen the back of the man's head as the bed went by. I grabbed the bag with Les' valuables and quietly stepped into the hallway, making my way to his bedside. The patient had an oxygen mask over his face and the lighting in the ward was really early fluorescent. I looked and nearly collapsed--my husband had aged fifteen years and had a gash on the top of his head! Of course it wasn't Les but some other poor man who was nearly accosted by an almost hysterical American!
   Sobered, I went back to the staff room to wait some more. A young surgeon joined us eventually. Colin, his name was and he was Mr. H's second. He said the surgery was long but it went quite well. The tumor was about as big as a three year old's fist and very nearly closed up completely. He found it hard to believe Les was passing anything at all.
   The good news was that they got it all in situ and the cancer had not broken through the outer wall of Les' rectum. We have to wait now for the pathology lab results on Les' lymph nodes which they also took from his groin, but the surgeons did not find any further involvement of cancer anywhere else. Colin assured us he would be checking in on Les every day and we could ask him any questions at any time. Kev and I hugged each other, tears in our eyes. Finally Les' bed went by and he turned his head to the window, looked bleary eyed at us and raised his hand. Thank the Goddess!!
   Kevin and I waited outside his ward room until they had Les sorted in his bed, the pain machine hooked up, and some other things organized. Les had an oxygen mask on and his eyes were closed. I took one hand and Kev took the other. Les opened his eyes, looked intently at me, then smiled and slipped his hand out of mine, making a loose fist and tapping his heart twice.
   We left at 10:30 p.m. after Les came 'round fully to coherence (he said a couple of things in his drug haze that were naughty and won't be repeated here but made Kev and I laugh like crazy. No doubt Les has no memory of it at all. Wink-wink-nudge-nudge!!)
   I got a text from Les just now this morning saying "Don't worry about me, doing good. Can't wait to see you. I love you very much.XXXX"
  I'm crying as I write this. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to our family and friends all over this big, round world for your thoughts, prayers, good wishes and well--words aren't enough really. Les and I have felt all along that we were cradled in a hug the size of this planet made up of the care and kindness of each of you. Blessed Be!